Wesley points to the top of the screen. "So up here I put the dates when stuff is due. And along the side I have the assignments. I color coded us so if you make updates, I'll see them in pink."
"I'm pink?" I fold my arms over my chest. "Because I'm a girl?"
"Because I ran out of colors. I color coded the due dates too." He points to the top of the screen. "Some assignments have multiple parts due at different times so I had to assign them colors. When I was done, all I had left was pink and purple. I'm purple, but if you want to switch, I don't care."
"Pink is fine," I say, feeling embarrassed I accused him of being sexist. Truth be told, I actually like the color pink. I don't wear it a lot but I still like it.
He turns his laptop to me. "You want to look it over?"
"No, it's fine. Thanks for doing that."
"No problem." He takes his laptop back and closes it. "I'm kind of a spreadsheet nerd so if you ever need one, just let me know."
He does seem a little nerdy with that plaid tie and the briefcase. People are going to make fun of him for that. He'll have a nickname by the end of the day.
"So are you from the area?" He turns to me, resting his forearm on the table.
"Yeah. Born and raised."
He smiles. "Do you guys really call yourselves cheeseheads or is that a myth?"
"Some people call themselves that, but I don't. I don't really get the obsession with cheese. I mean, yeah, we're a dairy state but so is California and they don't call themselves cheeseheads."
"We don't call ourselves anything, really."
"I forgot you're from California. What city was it?"
"Sacramento. It's not that different from here except we have better weather."
"How'd you end up in Wisconsin?"
"My dad took a job at the university. He's a physics professor."
"He couldn't get a job in California?"
"He could, and he had one. He was head of the physics department at a college in Sacramento."
"Then why'd he leave?"
"He wanted to get away. My parents divorced last year. My mom left him. She had someone on the side."
"Oh. Sorry. That's too bad."
He shrugs. "It happens."
I glance around the room, not sure what to say. He doesn't seem that upset by the divorce so maybe he's feeling better about it now that some time has past. But it's got to be hard to have to move across the country, leave all your friends behind, and start somewhere new.
"Why here?" I ask. "Just because of the job?"
"My dad grew up here. He moved to California for college, then got married and stayed out there because my mom didn't want to leave California."
"Are you mad you had to move?" I know I'm prying but he seems like an open person. Plus, I find him really easy to talk to, which is unusual. Typically, it takes me awhile to get comfortable with someone.
"I guess I am a little, but I didn't really have a choice. It was either move here or move in with my mom and her boyfriend, and I hate her boyfriend. He's one of those fitness freaks who works out constantly and won't eat carbs. The first time I met him, he gave me one of those giant containers of protein powder and told me he could get me free passes at the gym." Wesley rolls his eyes. "I knew right then I didn't like him. All he cares about are his looks. There's no way my mom and him will last."
"How'd she meet him?"
The bell rings. I'm disappointed. I wanted to keep talking to him.
"Guess we should go," I say, getting up.
He hands me my backpack and we follow everyone as they slowly file out of the room.
"What time do you have lunch?" he asks.
"Eleven."
"Same here. You want to have lunch together?"
He wants to have lunch with me? We just met. I know I'm probably the only person he knows here but by the end of the morning, he'll meet other people.
"You're having lunch with someone else," he says, assuming that's what my silence meant.
"It's not that. I was just planning to eat alone."
"Why? Do you like eating alone?"
"Not really, but my friend, Stella, has class so..."
"So you need someone to eat with." He points to himself. "In addition to being hot, I'm also skilled at engaging conversation and have a great sense of humor."
I laugh. "Good to know you don't suffer from low self esteem."
"Is that a yes?"
"Okay. I'll see you at eleven."
We're at the door now and he takes a piece of paper from his pocket. "Before you go, you know where 24B is?"
"You're going to 24B?"
"Yeah." He stuffs the paper back in his pocket. "You know where it is?"
"It's in the other building. You have to go down the hall and through the walkway. I'm actually going there myself."
"You're in my history class?" He smiles and I'm realizing how much I like his smile. His lips turn up higher on one side than the other, forming kind of a crooked smile, but it's cute. And kind of sexy.
"Guess so," I say. "Follow me. We'll find it together."
"You're new to the building too?"
"It's a new building. It's new to everyone. Just opened this year."
"Where was the old school?"
"A few miles away. They tore down two old high schools and combined them into this one. That's why it's so big."
He nods as we continue walking. As people pass us, I notice them staring at Wesley, first his face, then how he's dressed, then they notice his briefcase. He's definitely going to be made fun of for that. But he doesn't seem to care. He looks straight ahead, shoulders held high, a slight smile on his face. I wish I could be like that and not let people's reactions bother me. I'm a lot better than I used to be but it's something I still need to work on.
"Do you play any sports?" Wesley asks.
I laugh. "Me? Are you kidding?"
"Not sure what you mean. You don't like sports?"
"I'm not at all athletic. I barely passed gym class. Thank God I don't have to take it anymore."
"Isn't it a requirement?"
"Yeah, but I got out of it. And don't ask how. It's a secret." I say it like I'm joking, hoping he doesn't ask me more. The truth is, I got out of it because most athletic activities require you to have peripheral vision.
"I don't mind gym," he says. "It's usually the only exercise I get all day unless you count walking. I walk a lot. It helps me think."
We're at the classroom now so I say, "This is it."
He motions me to go first so I do, but as I turn to go in the classroom, I bump right into some girl. She's pretty, with straight blond hair and light blue eyes, wearing a skirt that I'm sure is shorter than the dress code allows.
"What the hell?" she says in an angry tone.
Sorry," I mutter.
Given my lack of side vision, I bump into people all the time. I also bump into poles or tables and anything else I can't see. That's one of the many reasons people make fun of me. They assume I'm clumsy or not paying attention. Stella keeps saying if I just told people about my eyes, they'd stop making fun of me but I know it's not true. They'd just find something else to tease me about.
The girl steps in front of me. She puts her hands on her hips and leans toward me. "You think you can just shove me like that without an apology?"
"She DID apologize," Wesley says from beside me. I turn my head and see him looking down at the girl. He's tall, at least six feet, and she's probably five foot, if that.
"Who are you?" she snaps. "Her nerd bodyguard?"
"What gave it away?" he asks. "My huge muscles? Or was it the briefcase?" He holds it up. "It may look innocent but this thing could knock someone unconscious."
I can't help but laugh. This guy is funny.
The girl looks back at me. "I almost tripped because of you."
"Sorry," I say, getting serious again. "I didn't mean to bump into you."
She points her finger at me. "Don't do it again!"
I wait for her to leave, then go find a seat up front. Wesley sits next to me.
"What are you doing?" I ask.
He gives me a confused look. "What do you mean?"
"Why are you sitting up here?"
"Because it's where I felt like sitting." He sets his briefcase on the desk and opens it.
"Don't you want to sit in the back?"
"Not really. Do you?"
"Yeah. I mean, no. Here is fine."
"Why'd you sit in back for chem?"
"Because it was the only seat left."
He nudges my arm. "Must be your lucky day."
"What do you mean?"
"By getting the last seat, you ended up with me as your partner. Just think how jealous everyone is of you."
I grin at him. "You're really full of yourself, you know that?"
He takes out his laptop. "I'm just stating the facts."
And yet I know he's just kidding. I can tell by that crooked, yet sexy, smile on his face.
"So you're usually a front rower?" he asks.
"A what?"
"Front rower. Someone who always sits in the front."
"I guess I am."
"You don't know?"
"I've never really thought about it."
"Sure you have. Everyone does. When you walk in a room, you have a decision to make. Front, back, or middle. If you always choose front, then you're a front rower."
"Okay, fine, I'm a front rower. What difference does it make?"
"Where you sit says a lot about you."
The bell rings as people continue to find seats. The teacher waits for them to sit down then says, "Welcome to American History. I'm Mr. Combs. I need to get something from the teacher's lounge. I'll be back in a minute."
As he leaves, the few strands of hair covering his bald head get blown up by the fan that's in the corner.
Some guy behind me laughs. "Look at that fuckin' comb-over," he says to whoever's beside him. "We should call him Mr. Comb-over."
"Shit, yeah," some other guy says. "That's fuckin' hilarious."
Looking over at Wesley, I see him typing on his laptop. He's good at tuning things out. People are talking all around us, really loud, and yet he's completely focused on what he's doing, like he doesn't even hear them.
I'll probably regret asking this but I do anyway. "So what does it say about me?"
He stops typing and looks at me. "What are we talking about?"
"Being a front rower. What does it say about me?"
"That you're smart. That you like to learn. Or it could just mean you have a crush on your teacher. Mr. Combs IS pretty hot."
I laugh as he goes back to typing.
"So what are you?" I ask. "Also a front rower?"
"I don't fit in a category. I mix it up. Sometimes the front, sometimes the middle, sometimes the back."
"You have to have a reason for choosing your seat. You just said everyone has to make a decision when they walk in the room. So how do you decide?"
"I sit wherever the prettiest girl is. If she's in front, I sit in front." He says it casually, his eyes on his laptop.
Is he saying I'm the prettiest girl in class? Is he kidding? I'm nowhere near the prettiest, especially today. My hair is even more staticky than normal. And since Wesley made me walk him to class, I didn't get a chance to stop in the bathroom to run a dryer sheet through my hair, so now it keeps sticking to my face.
"What's taking the teacher so long?" I ask, pretending I didn't hear Wesley's comment. I'm not comfortable with compliments, if that's what he meant it to be. Or maybe he was just joking. It's hard to tell with him.
"You don't believe me," he says as he takes off his blazer.
What is with this guy? Does he have a mind reading program on that laptop of his? He always seems to know what I'm thinking.
Choosing not to respond, I open my history book and pretend to read.
Then suddenly, I feel a rush of warm breath by my ear as he says in a low voice, "You're definitely the prettiest."
I whip my head to the side and see him sitting up straight, typing on his computer again. His blazer is folded over the back of his chair and his shirt sleeves are rolled up. I don't know why, but he looks even hotter with his sleeves rolled up like that.
Why am I getting all worked up over this guy? I'm not looking for a date and I'm definitely not looking for a boyfriend. I gave up on that idea when I found out about my eyes. Who wants to date the girl who could go blind at any time? The girl who bumps into things or trips and falls? The girl who can't see in the dark? Most dates happen at night so that right there rules out any possibility of a dating life.
"Okay, class, let's get started." Mr. Combs is back, his hair getting blown around every time the fan rotates his way. He should just turn it off, but he's really overweight, which must be making him hot because his bald head is sweating.
The guys behind me are laughing and cracking jokes. I don't know why they're sitting so close to the front. They're definitely back rowers.
Glancing down the front row, I notice it's all girls, most of whom are prettier than me. So then why did Wesley say I'm the prettiest? Did he not notice the other girls?
I feel a tap on my foot from Wesley. I look over and see him smiling at me. Then he reaches over, hiding his hand under my desk. I notice he's holding something. A yellow sticky note that's been folded in half. I take it from him and open it up. Inside he's written, You may not believe it but trust me, you're beautiful.
My jaw drops, then snaps shut as I hear Mr. Combs call my name for attendance.
"I'm here!" I say, then quickly hide the sticky note in my book bag.
Why did Wesley give that to me? Is it some kind of joke? Or did he really mean it?
Chapter Three
Just before eleven I drop my stuff off at my locker and hear Stella behind me.
"How was your morning?" she asks, leaning against the locker next to mine.
"Fine."
"Anything exciting happen?" She says it in a high-pitched tone that means something exciting happened to HER and she's hoping I'll ask her about it. She always does this. She asks me the question she's hoping I'll ask her, instead of just telling me whatever it is she has to tell me. Sometimes just to tease her I won't ask her the question she's expecting, which drives her crazy.
"It was a fairly uneventful morning," I say, not ready to tell her about the new guy and the note he gave me. That definitely qualifies as exciting but I need to think about it before I tell Stella. If it was all just a joke, I don't want to tell her about it.
She waits for me to ask her how her morning went and when I don't, she rises up on and down on her toes like she's going to burst if she doesn't tell me her news.
"You should probably get to class," I say as people rush past us. "The bell's about to ring."
"Luna!" She whacks my arm.
"Ow!" I pretend to be hurt but I'm not. Stella's too tiny to hurt anyone. She's an inch shorter than me and petite, or small-boned, as she says. She has long brown hair that's thick and wavy and her eyes are a swirly green like Wesley's swirly blue.
Stella's one of the pretty girls. If Wesley met her, he'd see his assessment of me was incorrect. I'm not even close to being the prettiest girl in school.
"C'mon," Stella pleads. "Ask me."
I laugh. "Okay, but let's start walking to your class or you'll be late."
"It's this way." She takes my arm but this time it's not because of my vision but because she's so excited to tell me her news. I know the difference because she's been grabbing my arm like this for as long as I've known her. When she's doing it because of my eyes, she uses a gentler hold and she pushes me instead of pulling me like she's doing now.
"So..." I say, drawing it out, "did anything exciting happen this morning?"
She stops in the middle of the hall and juts her hand in front of my face. "This!"
On the ring finger of her right hand, she has a thin gold ban
d with a tiny red stone on it.
"You got a ring?"
"Yes!" She jumps a little, then holds her hand in front of her, gazing at the ring. "Sam left it in my locker. I found it right before I came to see you. He left a card with it that says how much he loves me."
"Is that why he gave it to you? Just because he loves you?" I have no idea how relationships work. I've been on dates but never in a relationship. I live vicariously through Stella. She's dated Sam for a year now. She tells me everything about their relationship, including their sex life, which I'd rather not know about.
"He called it a promise ring," she says as we continue down the hall.
"What does that mean? He's promising you he'll marry you someday?"
She shrugs. "I don't know. I think it's more like he's promising me he's mine and that I'm his. It's like the ring is promising our commitment to each other."
"Aren't you already committed to each other?"
"Yeah but..." She pauses, like she hadn't thought of that. "It doesn't matter. The point is he loves me and this ring lets everyone know I'm his." She sighs in a slow, dreamy way. "Isn't that romantic?"
"Um, yeah, I guess."
She stops again and faces me. "Luna!"
"What?"
"Why aren't you more excited about this?"
"I AM excited."
"No you're not. You're acting like you're not even interested."
"I'm interested, but how excited am I supposed to be? It happened to you, not me. You're the one who should be excited, and you are."
She frowns. I disappointed her. She wanted me to react a different way and I didn't. But sometimes it's hard to be excited for something your friend has that you know you'll never have. I'm not going to have a boyfriend who adores me the way Sam adores Stella.
I shouldn't let myself feel this way. I shouldn't be jealous of her. I'm happy for her. I really am.
Holding up her hand I look at the ring again. "It's beautiful, Stella. Sam is a great guy."
"He is." She smiles and gazes at her ring.
"And you're a great girl. You guys are lucky you found each other." The bell goes off. "Crap, you're late to class."
The Geek and The Goddess Page 2
